


drawing lines in the sand

by honeymilktea (rosevtea)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Pre-Relationship, Sort of? - Freeform, more mountain metaphors than i was expecting, set during miyagi training camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24923989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosevtea/pseuds/honeymilktea
Summary: Extra practice with the ball boy who stole your ticket to Nationals.
Relationships: Goshiki Tsutomu & Hinata Shouyou, Goshiki Tsutomu/Hinata Shouyou
Comments: 14
Kudos: 108





	drawing lines in the sand

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this prompt](https://sportsfest.dreamwidth.org/27747.html?thread=3132003#cmt3132003). takes place during s4 ball boy arc

Goshiki isn’t sure what to make of Hinata Shouyou when he breaks into the training camp.

He knows the basics: he’s 164 centimeters, he jumps like he belongs to the split second in the sky every wing spiker gets, and he moves like the ball gravitates to his hand. Goshiki can’t deny that he’s captivating enough to demand attention, his eyes tracking the ball with a focus bordering on obsession even now, as a player demoted to watching Ushijima destroy the enemy from off the court.

Goshiki stops a ball Hinata had been diving for and can’t help the smug smile tugging on his lips as he tosses it to him. He turns away, careful to make his movements look almost careless, because giving away any sign of the frustration burning in his veins feels like a loss, and he doesn’t need another rival or another loss in his life.

( _How did it feel?_ Goshiki wants to ask when Hinata hands him a water bottle. _To be on the opposite side of Ushijima-san? To be the one slamming the ball down?_ )

Karasuno had won. Karasuno had won and taken Shiratorizawa’s last chance of going to Nationals with them, and Goshiki wants nothing more but to erase the empty feeling that had pervaded his entire being when the whistle cut through a long, long silence and the last two points had been on the wrong side of the scoreboard.

Shiratorizawa had always been the steady and unmoveable mountain in his eyes, a place where he could stand at the top and feel the promise of something greater thrumming underneath his fingertips as the team across the net collapsed. Miyagi was simply a starting place, a springboard for dominating Nationals. His goal for the year had been to stop one of Sakusa-san’s spikes, maybe receive one of Bokuto Koutarou’s cut shots—

Watching Karasuno accept the trophy hadn’t felt like the dethroning of a champion. Instead, it had been the erosion of the ground underneath his feet as the foundation he could fall back on crumbled into pieces. He can recall tears hitting the floor of the gym distantly, blurring shades of purple and gray all he really remembers of the bus ride back to school. Hands that don’t quite belong to him shook as they slowly zipped up his jacket. Next to him, Shirabu’s head was tucked between his knees. Around him, the intermittent sound of a hiccup or a sniffle echoes around the bus, far too loud and far too close.

(Hinata Shouyou yells at Ushijima before Karasuno leaves, and the words run through his head until he can’t tell what came out of Hinata’s mouth and what is a broken parody of his own thoughts. _From the concrete_ , Ushijima had said. How could he have climbed so far from the concrete?)

Hinata looks frustrated when he turns away, his expression unreadable as he runs off to grab towels, and Goshiki privately allows his smile to grow wider before letting it dissipate.

He may not be the one going to Nationals, but Goshiki hasn’t fallen behind yet.

“Please show me those razor-sharp straights of yours!” Hinata says, and Goshiki falters.

Hinata’s hands are clenched and he’s staring at him with something resembling awe as his arms swing in the air. Goshiki absently watches the way his jacket sleeves dip lower before meeting his eyes, and—that was a bad idea, he realizes a little too late, because Hinata Shouyou, the overenthusiastic ball boy, the one who had destroyed a mountain, never does things in halves.

His gaze is like the last golden streaks from the sunset invading the dark blue of the night, rich and demanding and ferocious. None of the animosity from the spiker in the sky is present in his expression as red blooms across his cheeks the longer he keeps talking, and it dawns on Goshiki that Hinata’s being _honest_.

The hard glare of the linoleum floor is easier to take in than Hinata’s admiration, but Goshiki can’t look away. He stays frozen in place, even as Hinata takes another step forward, leans into his personal space, and continues speaking like Goshiki’s capable of responding.

He’s not, really. With the close proximity, he’s forced to confront the shudder that had gone through his chest and it leaves his mouth twisted, stuck in a weak attempt at disinterest when he feels like he’s on fire. Hinata’s animated, excited, practically glowing as he jumps forward, and Goshiki can’t even begin to remember what he had originally wanted to do.

When he utters out an affirmation, Hinata bounds away and takes the spark with him. Goshiki stares after a human equivalent of an undying flame, unable to say anything against the sheer determination in all of Hinata’s actions. Unable to recognize when he had stopped seeing Hinata as 164 centimeters and started seeing him as a phoenix, flaring into life as soon as he steps onto the court.

Goshiki lets himself imagine the shine on a black-and-orange uniform, a daring smile under a never-ending roof and rows of spotlights; lets himself hear shoes squeaking against the floor as Hinata leaps into the air, his arm drawn back, his forehead scrunched into a concentrated frown as he narrows his eyes.

The dream dies when he sees Hinata just outside the court, stealing glances at the others. It dies when he realizes that the next match Hinata participates in won’t be against Shiratorizawa—it will never be against Shiratorizawa in the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium.

Fleetingly, he wonders what it would be like to stand on the mountain with Hinata. To watch opponents crumble together, to stand on the same stage, at the same side and listen to his shouts. To his praise. To his shallow breaths as he draws back to join a synchronized team attack while running on little energy.

No one can replace his senpai, but he watches Hinata’s posture subtly change as he catches another ball and thinks of evolution, of phoenixes and rebirth and the impossibility of being left behind by someone he originally assessed to be leagues below him. He watches Hinata dump a volleyball into a cart and thinks he wouldn’t be the type of person who would be satisfied with just standing at the top: he’d mold the mountain to his own strengths, push off from the edge and go higher.

Something about the slight grin on Hinata’s mouth as he catches yet another ball feels like the fledgling steps of evolution. Something about the way he leaps, reaching towards the ceiling for a ball, his focus hinged on one point—it makes Goshiki’s mouth go dry.

It feels like he’s being left behind.

Stars are in Hinata’s eyes when he catches the ball, his voice carrying in the crowded gym. Goshiki aims a low smile at the blockers mostly so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye.

Hinata tells him it was a nice straight. Goshiki doesn’t tell him he’s beginning to look like the sun. That he shifted his position to try to evolve, too.

One day, Hinata asks him to practice with him.

 _I want to practice receiving straights_ , Hinata says. _The blockers can’t catch ‘em and I wanna do it too. I know we already had extra practice, but please show me more!_

Goshiki agrees, beyond reason. Shirabu tells him he’s being stupid and he shouldn’t give too much away to the enemy. Tendou brushes him off, saying _it would be good for Tsutomu-kun to make some friends his own size!_ Ushijima leans over, adds _Hinata Shouyou is at least 20 centimeters shorter than Goshiki_ , and the conversation escalates.

It’s beyond reason, but he’s closing the metal doors to the gym anyway.

“Goshiki,” Hinata cuts in after a few spikes, “how’d you get so good at your straights?”

“Practice,” Goshiki answers thoughtlessly, backtracking when Hinata doesn’t look away, “and years of working on how I positioned my body when I jumped up. It just developed over time, I guess!”

He’s too flustered for how early they are into practice.

“I see,” Hinata mutters. Admiration is clear in his tone, and Goshiki’s not sure what to do with that information. “If I just keep watching the ball…”

Hinata trails off into a tangent Goshiki has no hope of understanding, but his head snaps up with sudden intensity and he knows better than to look away.

“Let me toss to you some more!” Hinata jumps into his personal space yet again. “And some jump serves, maybe, or—or maybe a cross? It’s cool to see the shots that get past the blockers, though! Maybe we should do everything! What do you think?”

Hinata Shouyou feels like he’s simultaneously standing on top of the mountain and is the mountain at the same time, and Goshiki doesn’t know what to do with that information either.

“We can do everything,” he says, and gives in.

The tablet is too small in his hands as he watches Hinata Shouyou take to the skies against Tsubakihara Academy. It doesn’t clearly render the firm set of his mouth when he follows the ball, or the small hop he does to get moving, or the newfound fierce certainty in his eyes when he moves because he’s reaching past the skies at this point, lighting the atmosphere on fire with how fast he’s pulling himself up.

It’s only when the video is in front of his eyes that he even begins to register that he can’t be there too. Sure, the reality of not going to Nationals had been in the back of his mind, ever-present when Hinata had first shown up at the training camp and ebbing away with each passing day, but he’s not exactly sure what replaced it.

(He has a nagging sensation that the longing resting on the tip of his tongue isn’t solely reserved for the Nationals court, but the thought has stayed untouched.)

Hinata’s taking off in a court Goshiki had wanted to dominate so long ago, slamming spikes into the ground on a court he can’t be at, and he presses his fingernails into his palms. Not hard enough to damage his skin, but hard enough to recall hot tears streaking down his face and _I’m counting on you_ echoing through the silent gym.

He wants to feel the warmth of the blinding lights on his skin again, but he also wants Hinata’s eyes on him from the other side of the net. More than anything, though, he wants to become the ace and evolve and stand on top of the mountain on his own two feet, then go past that and reach beyond the skies.

But he’s stuck in the common room, clasping the tablet just a little too tightly, and keenly feels the shackles on his feet when Karasuno scores the match point. _I can’t follow_ , he thinks as Hinata shakes Kageyama’s shoulders with misplaced aggressiveness. _I can’t follow, but—_

(He may not be the one going to Nationals, but Goshiki is far from falling behind.)


End file.
